Begin Reading Table of Contents About the Author Copyright Page Thank you for buying this St. Martin’s Press ebook. To receive special offers, bonus content, and info on new releases and other great reads, sign up for our newsletters. Or visit us online at us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup For email updates on the author, click here. The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy. For Sum PROLOGUE John woke with a start and thought, there’s someone in the house. He’d just heard a noise downstairs, something like the parting of dry, windblown lips. Then, the sound of creeping footfalls up the staircase. He stared into the darkness above his bed and listened, but aside from the gentle whirr of the central heating, the house was silent again. He rolled over and looked at his wife, ghostly in the dull moonlight falling in through the window. He’d probably had another nightmare, he thought. Creak. The sound came from the first-floor landing, a foot stepping down on the loose floorboard at the top of the stairs. He hadn’t imagined it that time. He was sure of it. He sat up and stared through the layers of darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, the shapes of the bedroom appeared, like a picture shifting slowly into focus. He saw the towering wardrobe silhouetted against a field of black. The dresser cluttered with his wife’s jewellery, glinting dully in the moonlight like dozens of tiny eyes. A pencil-thin sliver of light spilled beneath the closed door, flickering. He slid out of bed, opened the door and stepped out. There was a Harry Potter night-light in the hallway. His daughter Mia kept it there, so she didn’t get scared on her way to the bathroom at night. A fat brown moth fluttered blindly against it, over and over. John watched it for a moment, transfixed. Had that been what he’d heard? Then, from out of the shadows at the far end of the hall, stepped a man. John tried to speak but fear cramped his jaw. The man took another step forward. He was tall, bulky, and his head was shaved. He wore white canvas tennis shoes and a heavy black coat that John recognised. ‘Hello, John,’ the man whispered. ‘Do you remember me?’ ‘… Yes,’ John managed to say, his voice barely audible. ‘Do you know why I’m here?’ ‘Yes,’ John said softly. ‘I think I do.’ 1 THE WIDOW Kate Keddie stood in the airport bathroom, practising her smile in the mirror. She hated her mouth. It was several teeth too big for her head, so grinning usually made her look maniacal and deranged. She tried gently curling up the corners of her lips. She was going for confidently demure. She got Shelley Duvall on bath salts. ‘What are you doing with your face?’ Mia asked. Kate’s ten-year-old daughter had skipped out from one of the bathroom stalls to wash her hands. She’d tied the string of a heart-shaped Welcome Home balloon to her wrist, and now it bobbed above her like a buoy. ‘Nothing,’ Kate said. ‘How much longer until Dad gets here?’ ‘Ten minutes until he lands, then his plane has to taxi in, he has to collect his bags, clear customs … all up we’re looking at about sixteen hours.’ ‘You’re killing me, Mum!’ Mia slapped her feet against the polished concrete floor, buzzing with the sort of nervous excitement she usually reserved for Christmas morning. She’d never spent this long away from her father. John had spent the past two weeks in London for a palliative care research colloquium. Kate had spent most of that time striking days from the calendar with a fat red texta, longing for his return. She hoped that old cliché about absence making the heart grow fonder was true of John, but a dark part of her feared it might work the other way too. She had read somewhere that it only took two weeks to break a habit, and what was marriage if not a habit? Kate took her daughter’s hand and led her out into the terminal. The arrivals lounge at Melbourne International Airport was surging with people. Families gathered beneath hand-painted banners, watching the big frosted- glass doors outside customs. Behind them, drivers in black suits scribbled names on little whiteboards. There was a collective energy to the crowd that made it seem like one big entity rather than a hundred small ones, all moving in gentle, nervous harmony, like the legs of a caterpillar. Any second now, John would emerge through the doors dragging his little blue American Tourister behind him, eyes sunken and weary from the long flight. He would see them and beam. He wouldn’t be expecting them. He had insisted on catching a taxi back home, and Kate had insisted that was totally fine by her, knowing full well that she and Mia would drive out to the airport to surprise him. She was eager to see her husband, but more eager to hand him back the reins. She was a good mother, she thought, but a nervous one. She had never taken to the role as easily as other women seemed to – her mothers’ group friends, or the capable, busy-looking mums at school pick-up. Kate felt much more comfortable with John’s backup. ‘Do you think Dad remembered my pounds?’ Mia asked, staring over at the display screen outside a currency exchange kiosk. Lately she’d grown obsessed with collecting foreign money. ‘You reminded him at least two thousand times,’ Kate said. ‘I doubt he’d have the nerve to come back without them.’ ‘How much longer now?’ she groaned. ‘Five minutes. Watch the flight board. See?’ Qantas Flight QF31 from Heathrow (via Singapore) landed on time and without incident. A silence hung over the waiting crowd that soon enough gave way to shouts, tears and laughter as the first passengers exited into the lounge. Some people poured into the arms of their loved ones, while others beat a path through the crowd to their waiting drivers or the taxi rank beyond. A pretty woman with a corn-coloured ponytail collapsed into the arms of her waiting man. Then, temporarily forgetting where she was and who was watching, she kissed him passionately on the mouth. Nearby, an elderly Asian couple waved frantically as a man pushed a pram towards them, twin boys dozing inside. Kate watched them, waiting for her turn. She was a little surprised John wasn’t among the first passengers to arrive. He always flew business class, which gave him access to express lanes and priority service. Mia went up on tiptoe to scan the crowd. ‘Do you see him?’ she asked. ‘Not yet, monkey,’ Kate said. They watched the big glass doors keenly. They slid open again. This time, a smaller group of passengers paraded out. ‘I see him, I see him!’ Mia squealed, pulling her balloon down and facing its message towards the door. Then her shoulders sank. ‘No. Wait. That’s not him.’ The second wave of passengers dispersed. There was still no sign of John. The glass doors closed, opened. An elderly gentleman hobbled out, holding a cane in his left hand and a dusty old Samsonite in his right. The corridor behind him was empty. Kate checked the flight board, double-checked they were in the right place at the right time, then triple-checked. Surprise gave way to concern. ‘Mum?’ Mia said. ‘Keep watching, monkey. He probably just got caught up at baggage claim or he’s being hassled by a fussy customs officer. He’ll be here. Just you wait.’ They waited. Eventually, trying to keep the alarm from creeping over her face, Kate found her phone and dialled John’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. She tried again. Again, voicemail. He had probably forgotten to switch his phone out of flight mode, she told herself. Either that or he had left his charger plugged into the wall of his hotel suite and arrived in Australia with a dead battery. She began to chew her nails. The glass doors opened. Kate drew in a tight breath. Three stragglers emerged: a middle-aged couple, who seemed to be in the middle of an argument, and a young backpacker with dirty skin and a tangle of dreadlocks falling across one shoulder. Nobody was waiting for them. The doors closed, opened. This time the flight crew wandered out, chatting casually to one another, happy to have reached the end of their shifts. Where are you, John? Kate thought. If he’d missed his flight, he would have called or texted or emailed, wouldn’t he? He may not have known she’d be waiting at the airport, but he did know she’d be waiting. She tried calling him again. Nothing. She looked around the terminal. Most of the crowd had gone, aside from a few passengers at the car rental stalls and a man in a grey coverall vacuuming the strip of carpet by the front doors. ‘Where is he, Mum?’ Mia asked. ‘I’m not sure, monkey.